


How to Pull a Publicity Stunt and Everything In-Between

by triggerlil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: After Party, Clubbing, Daily Prophet, Digital Art, Director Pansy Parkinson, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Explicit Consent, F/F, Hair-pulling, Post-Hogwarts, Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley, Strap-Ons, Stripping, TasteofSmut 2020, Touch, Vaginal Fingering, Vibrators, hearing, sight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24708190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triggerlil/pseuds/triggerlil
Summary: Ginny and Pansy live on the edge of the spotlight—constantly straddling the line between living private lives and being bonafide celebrity sensations—when they finally step into the spotlight, they decide to take full advantage of the attention.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Pansy Parkinson/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 40
Kudos: 71
Collections: Taste of Smut Fest





	1. The Holyhead Harpies Have a Very Shameless Seeker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ladderofyears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladderofyears/gifts).



> Thank you to Randyoyo for the beta, Triggerlark for looking over Chapter 2 and the Cannes-pick, and Kata for the German translations in Chapter 3. Thank you to the Taste of Smut fest hosts for being absolutely wonderful, and special shout out to Rae for being amazing. 💕
> 
> To Emma, I saw this prompt, and thought it was too delicious not to pick for these girls. I hope you enjoy 🖤

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like, check out my Spotify Ginsy playlist for extra ~vibes~ while reading: [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7jWZ800LWtNM1jpcoW9pfR?si=7aAiu4pTQhCBEKfllXGwoQ)

Cameras flashed along the red carpet, voices shouting out things like “Harry, show us that scar,” “Blaise, look over here,” “Minister Granger, have Aurors Jin and Giblins returned from Hong Kong?” 

Ginny snuck an arm around Pansy’s waist, rolling her eyes as they stepped out of their limousine to the clacking of shutters, popping of bulbs, and the shouts of the press. The Daily Prophet was relentless, and quite a few rival papers had cropped up recently that were giving them a run for their money. The Howler was quickly living up to the reputation of its namesake. 

“Pansy, give us a smile, love!” 

Ginny’s arm flexed as she tightened her grip on Pansy, who of course just grinned nonchalantly, flashing a black manicured middle finger at the wiry photographer. 

“Weasley, how did you feel about Parkinson’s ex starring in her latest film?” 

Ginny grinned and let her hand snake towards the open side of Pansy’s chainmail dress, “I felt fine about it, thanks.” Her fingers ghosted over the curve of Pansy’s left breast, lightly running over her hardened nipple. 

“Didn’t you worry that old feelings would be rekindled?” 

Three things happened at that moment. 

First, Luna walked onto the red carpet in all yellow, the solar system magically suspended around her head, tiny planets circling her bright blond hair. 

Second, with all the attention now turned to their fashion designer friend, Ginny and Pansy began to walk away from the reporter, and Ginny took that moment of distraction to grab Pansy’s breast from under her dress, squeezing hard.

Third, a camera flashed, and Ginny’s ears burned bright red. 

“You never think, do you?” Pansy hissed under her breath, but her eyes were glittering. 

Ginny trailed her hand down Pansy’s side, feeling her ribs and soft skin, and then unwound her arm, clutching Pansy’s hand and squeezing. 

“You’re very naughty,” Pansy smirked, “that photo is going to be everywhere tomorrow.” 

“That’s okay,” Ginny said, “we still have some secrets.” 

“That’s true,” Pansy mused. 

Stepping off the red carpet, they had a moment to themselves, the cameras left behind, the party stretching on before them. Pansy took this moment to turn to Ginny, cupping her face. Pansy pursed her lips, and then Ginny felt a vibration slowly begin between her legs. 

“Alright?” Pansy asked, and Ginny clutched Pansy’s hand as the sensation grew. She took a deep breath, letting the pleasure settle in the pit of her stomach, and nodded. 

“Hello, Ginny, Pansy!” Luna said in her familiar airy voice, coming up behind them. Mars was slowly inching towards her left ear, and she smiled serenely. 

“Hello, Luna,” Pansy smiled, then motioned towards the ballroom, “shall we?” 

oOoOo

#### Except from The Daily Prophet volume 789, September 14th 2015:

oOoOo

Holyhead Harpies Seeker star Ginny Weasley, 33, and Multi-Talented Director Extraordinaire Pansy Parkinson, 34, were spotted at the Ministry’s Fall Formal Ball yesterday evening, despite exclamations to the press that same morning that they would not be attending.

The couple stayed true to form in Zabini originals, Weasley in an elegant black suit with gold details, Parkinson reaching dangerously experimental levels in a fine chain-mail dress, sheer green gloves, and thigh-high heeled boots.

The following quote about the night’s activities was by an anonymous friend:

“Pans, I know you’re going to be reading this because you’re an absolute narcissist. I don’t know why I’m indulging you right now because I know you enjoy this, but if I have to sit through another ball watching you eye-fuck Ginevra I will go mental. Please, for the love of Merlin, at least take it to the loo.” 

She has declined to comment on the quote but said that if anyone should stop eye-fucking anyone, it should be the DMLE golden couple, who are both famous in their own right, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. 


	2. Invite-only; Films and Fingering

Ginny and Pansy stepped off the red carpet and into the Palais des Festivals, an elegant modernist venue, known for being where the invite-only Cannes film festival is held on a yearly basis. 

In this particular instance, it was not exactly Cannes, but it wasn’t exactly… not Cannes. It was the FWFF, French Wizarding Film Festival. Films made by wizards could win awards at Cannes, but it was no fun to sit there and pretend you had made a film the old fashion way. So the wizarding community had come together to make branches of their own favourite festivals, where they could use magic freely through the night. As it were, these events were kept quite secret from the public, unless one followed popular wizarding film papers. 

Once inside, Pansy flowed effortlessly through the guests, nodding and accepting compliments. Ginny trailed behind her, a glint of pride in her brown eyes. She watched the sway in Pansy’s hips, gaze moving down to the outline of her perky arse and thighs, accentuated by the clinging material of her maroon dress and the lift in her strappy black heels. A levitated tray of champagne hovered near Ginny’s right, and as Pansy shared exaggerated cheek kisses with another friend of the industry, she grabbed two flutes. 

“Champagne for the lady?” Ginny asked, pressing one into Pansy’s cold hand. She took a moment to brush her fingers up Pansy’s bare arm, revelling in the visible shiver it created. 

“You’re always so cold,” Ginny murmured, an unspoken implication hanging there. 

Behind closed doors, using Ginny as her own personal heater was one of Pansy’s favourite pastimes, curling herself into her partner’s side, she would sneak her hands under Ginny’s shirt to place them on her abdomen, or into Ginny’s joggers to cup her arse. The chill on her bare skin always sent a thrill through her spine, so really, she didn’t mind.

She took a sip of the bubbly drink, trying to ignore that she actually didn’t like champagne at all. She’d much rather a shot of firewhisky, or a rye and ginger, but it was something to do with her hands, which desperately wanted to roam over every inch of her girlfriend. 

Standing on the outskirts, they watched various members of the industry mingle. The crowd was surprisingly young and varied, Muggle films only having taken off in the wizarding community in the last decade, their own magical creations even later. Debates had been raging recently about whether it was ethically sound for wizards to participate, considering their natural advantage over Muggles, and how the industry held up against the Statute. Personally, Ginny only cared because Pansy cared, but she was a Gryffindor through and through, so whenever Blaise got on his high horse and brought up things like classical wizarding literature, and how film wasn’t a ‘true’ art form, she’d pull him right back down to earth.

Ginny could argue with the best of them. She knew Pansy thought the debate on the ethics of wizarding film was ridiculous, and thus Ginny thought it was too. She knew that Pansy’s favourite film was _ All About Eve _ , a black and white film from the 1950s, directed by a Muggle (of course, because wizards hadn’t stumbled across the art of the motion picture yet). 

That was the thing about filmmaking, Pansy would say at three in the morning, tumbler of whiskey hanging deliciously from her pale slender fingers; it wasn’t necessarily about the special effects, or how magical and mysterious it looked. Some of the best films she had ever seen, Pansy would say, leaning forward as if letting Ginny in on a secret, were by Muggles. And where they perhaps had understated cinematography or editing, there was powerful storytelling and attention to detail. 

So, Ginny would tell Blaise, you can shut the fuck up about my girlfriend’s chosen profession, thank you very much. 

As it so happened, Pansy would often end those tangents by swiping the pad of her thumb across her lower lip, narrowing her eyes, and letting out a string of insults towards other directors who she thought still needed to learn the fine art of subtle cinema. 

Looking across the venue, through the mingling extravagant suits and dresses, Ginny noticed one of the directors who was in the running for the same prize as Pansy. Something palm tree, Ginny thought, as she glanced at Pansy, who seemed to be imaging taking her five-inch heels and stabbing them into the poor devil's eye socket.

“Pans,” Ginny whispered, nudging her side, “your bitch face is on.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Pansy drawled, but she turned to look at Ginny, her expression softening. “I didn’t realize my face offended you.” 

Ginny grinned devilishly, as Pansy snuck a hand around her waist, leaning in. 

“It doesn’t,” Ginny said, sipping on her champagne, “I quite like your face, actually.” 

“I should hope so,” Pansy said, as her hand slipped down to quickly pinch Ginny’s bottom through the fabric of her dress. Ginny coughed on her champagne, the tips of her ears flushing a red that absorbed her freckles. 

“So adorable,” Pansy simpered. 

“I’m not adorable,” Ginny replied, clearing her throat, “I’m a very fit and intimidating Quidditch player.” She didn’t often wear dresses to formal events, but it was the nature of the occasion, and she actually quite enjoyed what Luna had styled for her. It was simple and felt like water was flowing over her skin. Either way, the outfit did nothing for her intimidation levels.

“Of course, darling,” Pansy said, squeezing Ginny’s waist. “By the way, I’m not wearing anything under this dress.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow, then searched Pansy’s hips for an outline of a thong, but found none, just the beautiful curve of her hip bone. Glancing up at Pansy’s chest, she had known the witch wasn’t wearing a bra, but apparently hadn’t been paying enough attention. Now, she noticed the erotic dent of Pansy’s hard nipples in the weighted fabric, the side of her torso visible nearly down to her waist, a tantalizing curve of her breast peaking out. 

“Merlin,” Ginny breathed, and felt her face flush the same bright red as her ears, painfully aware of the damp spot growing between her legs. “How didn’t I notice when we left the house?”

Pansy shrugged, grinning like a cat, “I think you were a bit preoccupied.” 

Ginny nodded dumbly, yes, she’d been a bit too busy with Pansy’s head between her thighs on their living room couch, waiting for their chauffeur to bring the car around. 

As Ginny watched, Pansy brought her fingers to her lips. To anyone else, perhaps she was just fixing her typical black lipstick, or wiping away a stray droplet of champagne, but Pansy flicked out her pink tongue, licking at the v between her forefinger and index. 

“That’s very lude of you,” Ginny said in a strangled voice. She was sure her blush couldn’t get any deeper, when Pansy clasped her hand, leading her through the crowd and around a corner. With a nearly indistinguishable flick of her wrist, her wand was in her hand, and the ticketer at the door looked around in confusion, before Pansy slipped into the theatre, dragging Ginny behind her. 

It was dark, a message projected onto the screen: 

_ Potion for a Lady on Fire: 45 minutes. _

Ginny squinted, trying to make out other forms in the darkness, but the theatre was empty, everyone preoccupied with taking photos for various papers and showing off their outfits on the red carpet. 

Pansy vanished her champagne flute, then plucked Ginny’s from her hand, doing the same thing. They found the plush chairs reserved for them, and took their seats, raising the armrest that separated them. Ginny's eyes were glued to Pansy’s legs, as the witch adjusted her outfit. Her red dress had a slit running up the thigh, and it was hiking up dangerously, threatening to reveal everything. 

“Now,” she said, shifting toward Ginny, her knees parting seductively, the art of subtle cinema, “where were we?”

Ginny turned so she was angled towards the back of the theatre, then snuck a hand through the slit in Pansy’s dress, to feel the smooth curve of her thigh, and travelled upwards. Everything was warm, and Ginny ran a finger tentatively over Pansy’s wet outer folds, up through her landing strip of dark curls. Pansy tensed up in her seat, arching her back towards Ginny’s hand, desperate. 

“In a rush?” Ginny asked, relishing the reversal of power. 

“Guests are going to be coming in soon.” 

“Don’t worry,” Ginny whispered, her breath on the shell of Pansy’s ear. “I’ll keep an eye out.” 

Ginny slowly stroked up and down, teasing, dipping into the wetness, all the while the back of her neck prickling, anxious that someone might walk in at any moment. She licked up the curve of Pansy’s ear, taking pleasure in the way Pansy seemed to curl towards her. She could feel her own need clenching in the pit of her stomach, and could only imagine how much Pansy must have been aching for release. 

As Ginny began to push her fingers deeper, Pansy let out a shaky breath, dropping her head to Ginny’s shoulder. 

With slicked fingers, Ginny began circling Pansy’s clit, slow and gentle then slipping her fingers back inside, she made the come hither motion, working with her thumb to keep teasing every nerve ending. Pansy stifled moans into Ginny’s shoulder, lips damp, and Ginny almost wanted to moan herself at how unbearably hot Pansy was. She wanted to make her cum all over her designer dress and velvet seat, wanted Pansy to sit there knowing she had been made to cum only minutes before, while her coworkers and rivals sat around them. 

“Ginny I’m—” Pansy exhaled, her breath catching in her throat.

Ginny removed her fingers and started circling Pansy’s clit faster, applying more pressure.

“You’re so gorgeous, Pans,” she murmured against the shell of Pansy’s ear. “You’re so wet.” 

With a final dash of pressure and speed, Pansy began to shake against Ginny’s hand, and then she was biting down on Ginny’s shoulder, gasping, as her orgasm washed through her. 

Pansy’s legs shook, thighs squeezing on Ginny’s hands, forcing her to stop moving. For a moment, they sat there, Pansy breathing heavily, clinging to Ginny, and Ginny’s hands resting between Pansy’s damp thighs. 

“Should I clean you up?” Ginny asked, as they heard voices close to the theater entrance.

Pansy nodded, leaning back in her chair, cheeks flushed. 

Before Ginny reached for her wand, she brought her hand to her mouth, and slowly licked up her finger, savouring the taste and smell of her girlfriend, the salacious audacity of it all. 

Pansy’s eyes narrowed, and she licked her lips, as Ginny pulled out her wand and whispered a quick Scourgify. 

It was well-timed, as people began walking into the theatre, navigating to their seats. 

“I am going to make you cum so many times when we get home,” Pansy muttered, as she fixed her dress and hair, crossing her legs. 

The film was phenomenal, of course it was, Ginny expected nothing less from Pansy. However, as the credits rolled, and people clapped, Ginny found her thoughts wandering, as Pansy laid a hand on her thigh, and gave a telling smile. 

oOoOo

oOoOo

#### Translated Headlines

Sorcier-Soir: Number one for your celebrity news

Pansy Parkinson: Exclusive prizes and affections

Jin Cheng Wu: International Auror of the year 

#### Translated excerpt from Sorcier-Soir volume 1720, May 15th 2016:

Prolific director Pansy Parkinson, 34, and her partner, Holyhead Harpies Seeker Ginerva “Ginny” Weasley, 33, caused quite a sensation at the Cannes Film Festival last night. Parkinson took Cannes by storm, winning Best Feature Film, the Queer Palm Award, and Best Screenplay. Her 2015 film,  _ Potion for a Lady on Fire _ , is projected to sweep major award circuits so it’s no surprise that the French-language film impressed audiences at Cannes.

Weasley was obviously quite proud and showed her partner as much. They left the darkened theatre looking quite a bit more rumpled than when they had entered. Weasley wore a sapphire blue satin, knee-length dress and black flare-heeled boots. Her hair was left hanging loose around her shoulders, a marked difference to the low ponytail she usually favours in public appearances. Parkinson wore a deep red Lovegood original maxi-dress with a cheeky thigh slit, black velvet lace-up heels, and silver snake earrings. The two were spied in a cheeky position as Parkinson was seen patting Weasley’s peachy bottom. 

An anonymous source reported that the two were “making eyes” throughout the entire ceremony and that they were found “frenching” in the bathroom. 

Upon leaving the festival, Parkinson was spotted with love bites along her shoulder, and declined to comment. 


	3. X Marks the Spot, In Other Words, Pansy Parkinson is Really Hot

Pansy and Ginny stepped out of the cab, hands intertwined. Pansy shielded her eyes despite her oversized sunnies, and Ginny smiled and waved as bulbs flashed. 

“Why do you humour them, darling?” Pansy drawled, her long black trench coat whipping out behind her as they passed the paparazzi, ignoring the various calls. 

“Weasley, Weasley! Can we get a word about the game?” 

Pansy groaned, eye roll hidden, as Ginny stepped forward towards an extended mic. 

“I’m very happy to have won. It was a great match, the Tornados put up a great fight.”

“Parkinson, Parkinson! Smile, love! Any word on Malfoy’s public spat with Harry Potter?” 

This time, Pansy pulled her sunglasses down her nose dramatically and glared at the reporter. 

“I like to think I’m famous in my own right,” she said, voice steel. The reporter withered under her gaze and began to stutter out a flurry of new questions. Pansy just shook her head, pushing her sunglasses back up and blew a kiss over her shoulder. “Sorry  _ love _ , but you missed your chance.” 

Ginny laughed all the way to the front door of the venue, where a female bouncer with menacing forearms smiled, checking their IDs. 

“Congratulations,” she said, with a heavy German accent, slapping Ginny hard on the back. 

“Thank you!” Ginny replied, trying not to wince despite feeling like her back had just been hit with a bludger. 

Ginny and Pansy began their descent down a steep and narrow staircase, the walls decorated in ultraviolet graffiti. The white accents on their clothes were lit up like beacons, the thrumming beat of music already beginning to pulse in their veins. 

“I’m glad we did a bit of pre in the locker rooms,” Ginny said, as Pansy shirked off her trench coat, pocketing her sunglasses. Her outfit seemed to be Matrix inspired, as she revealed tight black leather pants and a halter top, her perky breasts obviously braless. 

Pansy hummed in agreement. “One must never go to a club sober.” 

They stopped at the coat check quickly, and then finally entered the main room. 

AMORT was a magic only club, built in the enormous cavity of a left-behind bunker, featuring smooth concrete pillars and floors. At the far end of the room on a raised platform was the DJ, backlit by the magical lines of fluctuating dragons, red and gold lights washing out into the crowd, lighting up the bodies that gyrated across the floor. 

Ginny and Pansy moved through an archway towards a bar, the entire area washed in purple. Pipes and metal crisscrossed the ceiling, tiny orbs of violet light floating around the room, zipping down to illuminate drink menus. 

With a flash of her ID, Ginny and Pansy were brought along a deep plum carpet around the bar and up a set of stairs, where they found the rest of the Harpies lounging on huge bean bags, looking out over the dance floor below. 

Chants of  _ Weasley! Weasley! Weasley! _ rang out as Ginny entered, and was swept up in a lift by her teammates, piling her onto a bean bag. 

“What took you so long?” one asked, and with a smirk from Pansy, everyone resorted to hollering. 

“My apologies,” Pansy said. “Round of firewhisky on me.” 

Throwing herself on Ginny’s lap, Pansy took out her wand, and with a wave, a wix with spiky platinum hair was flying up next to them on a silver broom with neon pink bristles, tray of shot glasses in hand. They levitated the firewhisky, putting on a show as all the shots burst into tall blue flames, before they were passed around. 

“To us, the latest champions of the Quidditch World Cup,” someone yelled, and everyone threw back their shots. 

“I need a chaser,” Ginny whispered to Pansy cheekily, drawing her into a deep kiss. She grabbed her girlfriend’s arse and pulled her snug against her lap. 

For a moment, they were wrapped up in one another. Both tasted like alcohol—Pansy a hint of peppermint, Ginny a tad like cinnamon. Pansy smelled like pine and leather, Ginny like broom polish and sweat. They were vaguely aware of teammates watching and cheering, but that only seemed to make it more exciting, as Pansy moved her hands up to rest on Ginny’s chest, feeling her heartbeat pound with the music. 

“Okay you two, we get it!” Morgan, a chaser, laughed, only to stop halfway as if struck by a realisation. She stood up abruptly, pulling out her wand frantically. “We need a stripper! Merlin’s balls, we need a stripper!” 

“And another round!” yelled Griffiths, a beater this time. 

The same platinum wix zipped by, this time with tall glasses of a sparkling liquid that kept changing colour. With her was a witch and wizard, both sporting black spiked collars. The witch was in what appeared to be a neon purple bodysuit, with a black mesh overshirt. Her makeup was done in bright colours that lit up under the UV lights, glowing beautifully against her dark skin. The wizard had on a long-sleeved purple mesh shirt, with black latex booty shorts, rhinestones along his dark brows, glittering against his pale skin. Neither were wearing the customary heels, or really any footwear at all, as they stood perched on colorful brooms, toes gripping the round handle. 

“Someone called for us?” The witch asked, flying close to the railing and leaning over to stroke a hand under Morgan’s chin. 

The wizard stepped on the edge of his broom, and in a smooth motion, kicked it up, so that he was gripping to the top with his feet curled around the base, as if using a pole. 

“That’s real talent,” Griffiths gasped, as the wizard came towards her. He gripped his broom with his thighs, and slowly peeled one arm away, arching his back. 

The witch waved her wand, and with a burst of light, a large snake curled around her shoulders, flicking out its tongue. Ginny shivered, and Pansy reached down to squeeze her hand. 

Ginny banished the image of gaping skeletal eyes by looking into Pansy’s dark green ones. For a moment, in a beating club with strippers performing and friends all around them, it was just the two of them. Pansy squeezed Ginny’s hand again, and bit her lip, as Ginny brought her free hand up to caress the side of Pansy’s face. She didn’t need the snakes of her past when she had her own Slytherin right in front of her. 

“I love you,” Ginny whispered, leaning forward. She said it again into Pansy’s mouth, just in case she hadn’t heard the first time, and then she said it again as her lips travelled up Pansy’s jawline, against the shell of Pansy’s ear. “I love you.” 

“It’s like you don’t even want to see magical stripping,” Griffiths shouted, pulling Pansy off Ginny’s lap and pushing her towards the duo. Ginny grinned lopsidedly, although she felt the loss of Pansy’s weight acutely. 

“I’m only letting you get away with this because you’re my girlfriend’s best friend,” Pansy sniffed as she leaned against the railing, watching the witch thrust against her broom, twirling down and doing the splits. 

“Care to join me?” the witch asked, and Pansy raised a manicured eyebrow. Ginny came up and hugged her from behind, leaning around Pansy’s tall frame. 

“I bet you would,” Ginny smirked. “You always love showing off.” 

“Isn’t it difficult?” Pansy asked, “Seems dangerous.” 

“Don’t worry,” the witch said, and she waved her wand. The snake slithered off her shoulders, and curled in on itself, creating a spiraled platform. “Completely solid.” 

Pansy looked at Ginny, who nodded and kissed her shoulder. With the affirmation from her girlfriend, Pansy took the hand of the witch, and tentatively climbed up the railing and onto the serpentine platform.

“Don’t worry,” the witch said, winking. “I’ll catch you.” In the flashing lights of the club, her neon eyeliner twisted off into writhing snakes every time she blinked.

As the DJ spun towards the next song, Pansy felt the rhythm thrum through her veins, and she let it move her. Bookended by the two dancers, she kept eye contact with Ginny, bending down and traveling back up, feeling the curves of her own body. She felt confident and powerful, dancing above the crowd, no one knowing she was doing it except the team in front of her. She brought her hands above her heads, twirling, stretching upwards, the music bringing her higher and higher.

To Ginny, Pansy was everything. She couldn’t look away as Pansy danced, top riding up to reveal her pale stomach; she was enthralled. She felt herself being pulled, inexplicably, towards Pansy, felt the need to be with her, for them to move against each other. 

When Ginny knelt over the railing, staring up into Pansy’s face, Pansy seemed to understand. Taking Ginny’s hand, she came back down to earth. On the ground, she fed a couple galleons into the mouth of the snake, and with everyone preoccupied with the current spectacle, Ginny then took Pansy by the hand and led her around the corner from the VIP lounge. 

The music slightly quieter, but still pulsing through their entire beings, Ginny pressed Pansy up against the cold wall and kissed her desperately. 

Pansy tangled her fingers into Ginny’s hair, and Ginny gripped Pansy’s hips, wanting to be as close as possible. 

Ginny pried open Pansy’s mouth, parting her lips, letting her tongue move freely. The firewhisky was beginning to take effect, and Ginny felt the odd sensation that her lips were not her own, but at the same time, everything felt more intense. Ginny was hot all over, Pansy’s cold hands against the back of her neck the only thing keeping her soul inside her body. She bit and sucked on Pansy’s lower lip, moving her kisses once again across Pansy’s jaw. This time she trailed down, over her neck, to her collarbone, and back up. 

“I love you so fucking much,” Ginny said in between leaving love bites on Pansy’s neck, shivering every time Pansys gasped or moaned at the pain. “I want you so much.” 

Pansy pushed her hands down the waistband of Ginny’s joggers to cup her arse cheeks, kneading them, digging her nails into the skin. Ginny shivered as Pansy’s fingers trailed the crack of her arse, pulling her cheeks apart. Her teammates could come out at any moment, or a staff person could bring up snacks, and here they were, necking in the middle of the hallway. 

“Want to dance?” Pansy asked breathily. “I think we should go dance.”

Ginny just nodded, because what else was there to do really, when her girlfriend was fondling her arse? She was helpless to resist. 

They made their way down the stairs to the bar, where they quickly did another round of firewhisky shots, oohing over the way it burst into flames at the flick of a wand, and then found themselves on the dance floor, flush between grinding and hopping bodies.

Ginny pressed up against Pansy, resting the back of her head on the perfect spot between Pansy’s neck and shoulder. She wanted to stay there forever, but of course, this was a techno club, and one did not simply allow the beat drop to pass without fanfare. 

Yet every time that they came apart in order to bounce up and down for the beat drop, it felt like something was missing, and they would gravitate back together inexplicably. They never danced with anyone else, despite hands occasionally roaming to try and pull one of them away. Ginny wanted to feel all of Pansy, pressing her arse into Pansy, feeling the thrilling pushback, promises of the strap to come. They both began to sweat as they continued to dance, occasionally bumping into one of the Harpies and bouncing up and down with glee, only to find themselves alone again, and tangle up in each other to make out surrounded by hundreds of strangers.

It was glorious, to have no one care what you did, to be seen by so many, to know that as they kissed, tongues swiping across lips and necks and ears, that they were part of a sweating, grinding, pleasurable mass. 

Pansy bent down to Ginny’s ear, so she could whisper but still be heard over the music. “I want to fuck you.” 

“I want you to fuck me,” Ginny responded, daringly letting a hand drop between Pansy’s legs, pressing up to the warm heat. “I want to feel you inside me.” 

Pansy wiped sweat from her brow, flicking her bangs from her forehead. “You’re being too hot, Gin. I might have to strip.” 

Ginny raised both eyebrows, and there was a dare sparkling in her brown eyes. She reached forward, running her hands along Pansy’s waistband. Every time they danced, Pansy’s breasts bounced, and Ginny wasn’t sure what to expect underneath her top. It would be both legal, and not completely unusual, if Pansy went completely naked above. 

Ginny slowly lifted up the fabric, letting her hands trail higher, revealing Pansy’s upper abdomen, her ribcage. 

“Is this okay?” Ginny asked, and Pansy nodded, eyes alight. 

Ginny’s hands snaked higher, the lower curve of Pansy’s breasts peeking out, and then slowly, the top was over her head. Pansy waved a hand, vanishing the shirt to their hotel room. Her pale skin was now on display, pointed shoulders, nipples covered by black Xs of tape. 

“Very punk,” Ginny murmured, dancing flush to Pansy’s chest, so she could snake a hand up and fondle Pansy’s breast. Such an obvious action, and yet in the crowd, everything felt anonymous. 

It was all too hazy and wonderful, and suddenly, Ginny just wanted to be home, with no one but Pansy and her domineering strap for company.

“Want to get out of here?” Ginny asked, as the beat dropped and people around them went wild.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Pansy replied.

“What about your shirt?” Ginny asked, and Pansy shrugged. They made their way through the crowd, although not before noticing that Morgan and the neon witch from before had made their way behind the DJ table. 

At the coat check, Ginny reached for their outerwear, but Pansy took it first, vanishing it back to their hotel. 

“What was that for?” Ginny asked, although she sensed she knew what was coming.

“I’m just so hot, aren’t you?” Pansy asked devilishly. 

“Literally or figuratively?” 

“Both,” Pansy said. “Shall we go meet the press?”

They could have headed to an apparition point—though they were verging on too drunk—or they could have used their coats as cover. It was just that Pansy wanted the press to capture her. And Ginny wanted what Pansy wanted. Wanted the world to see Pansy and know that she belonged to Ginny, and vice versa, to know that they were going home to fuck like mad, to know that Ginny’s hands had roamed over every part of that porcelain skin. 

“Let’s,” Ginny replied, and they left the venue, Pansy with nothing but those little black x’s and tight leather pants. 

Although they were both still wearing their shoes, miraculously. 

The bouncer from earlier had switched shifts with someone, who only nodded as they left, and the paparazzi mob from earlier had all but dissipated. 

As they walked to the edge of the sidewalk and Ginny hailed a cab, a flash went off from across the street. In that moment, Pansy turned, and instead of trying to cover up, flipped them off. Her perfectly manicured black nail shining against the next flash. It was perfect. 

Ginny felt a blush climbing up her neck, thinking of the owls they’d both get after the photo’s release, and the teasing of her teammates. As a cab came to a stop at the curb, Ginny grabbed Pansy’s hand and pulled her in. 

Pansy collapsed into Ginny’s lap, grinning. She didn’t have to say anything; they both knew. 

The music in the cab was extremely mellow in comparison to the club, and both women found themselves feeling that strange, otherworldly sensation of being drunk in a cab, holding hands with the person you love, ears still ringing, and body not completely your own. 

Outside the world was rushing by, and Ginny let her forehead rest against the cool window. It calmed her rushing thoughts, sent a sweet sensation down her neck, while Pansy rested her head on Ginny’s shoulder. They sat like that, not talking, until the cab pulled up outside their house. 

“Are you excited to see the papers tomorrow?” Ginny asked on the front step.

“Very,” Pansy said.

Fumbling with her wand and keys, Ginny pushed open the door, Pansy following. When the door closed behind them, Ginny turned. Pansy was leaning against the door, looking down into Ginny’s face. 

“You know I love you, right?” Pansy murmured, voice loud and quiet all at once, sounding strange in Ginny’s ears with the continuous ringing of ghostly music, sounding strange even to Pansy herself, as if speaking underwater. 

Ginny came closer, pinning Pansy to the wall. “Of course, and I love you.” Ginny began mouthing along Pansy’s collarbone. 

“Okay good,” Pansy said into Ginny’s hair. “Because I love you.” 

“I know Pans. Do you know I love you?” 

“I do.” 

Ginny felt, as she had before, that she wanted to commit every piece of Pansy to memory, her angles and curves, her beauty marks and scars. “I never knew I could love someone this much, actually.” Pansy’s perfume had worn off, and Ginny could now smell more of Pansy’s natural scent, something that made her chest constrict, made her feel warm, like every freckle on her body was going to burst into a miniscule flame. 

“Ginevra Weasley, who gave you the right to be this attractive?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Want to go upstairs, and have passionate, intimate sex?” 

Pansy nodded, the barest pink tinge to her cheeks. “I would very much like to do that.” 

Ginny had never been more in love with anyone ever. 

Upstairs, Pansy peeled off the tape on her breasts and attempted to drunkenly remove her leather pants, having to enlist Ginny’s help when her right leg got stuck. Ginny had no problem at all shucking her comfortable athleisure, and soon they were both lying in bed naked, bodies on display.

It was one of those moments of raw intimacy, when it didn’t matter that both perfections and imperfections were on display. 

Pansy connected Ginny’s freckles, ran her hand through Ginny’s full bush of pubic hair, stroked up and down her thigh.

Capturing Pansy’s hand, Ginny began sucking on her fingers, meeting Pansy’s gaze the entire time. 

Something flicked on in Pansy, and she waved her wand, her green strap tying itself into place.

“I want to be inside you,” Pansy murmured, pushing Ginny onto all fours, who readily obeyed. 

Pansy slicked her hand with Conjured lube, swiping it over her dildo, and then reached a hand down to swipe up Ginny’s heat. 

“You’re already so wet,” Pansy murmured. “How badly do you want me to fuck you?”

“Please,” Ginny panted, wiggling her arse. “I need it.” 

Pansy placed the tip of her strap-on at Ginny’s entrance, and then pushed forward, slipping inside. Ginny let out a low moan, and Pansy dug her nails into her girlfriend’s arse cheeks.

“Please, Pans,” Ginny said breathily. 

Pansy took up a rhythm, slowly at first, and then fucking harder and faster. She grabbed her wand, and with a sharp jab, a buzzing began on her clit, and with the way Ginny’s face dropped into the mattress, she knew it had begun for her girlfriend too. 

“Do you want to cum?”

“Yes, Pans, yes.” 

Pansy grabbed a fistful of Ginny’s red hair, so that she was forced to arch her back. 

“Say it.”

“Please let me cum, Pans, please.” 

It felt like they had been working up to this the entire night. Even the low vibrations were threatening to send Pansy over the edge, and undoubtedly the added thrusting was doing the same to Ginny. 

Pansy pushed forward harder, loving the needy sounds that were escaping Ginny’s mouth, her muscles flexing with every thrust. 

Pansy reached for her wand again, and the vibrations increased, she could barely contain herself. 

Wrapping around Ginny, she breathed out heavily. “Okay, together.”

With a guttural moan, Ginny began to convulse, fingers gripping the sheets, cheek pressed into the mattress as she orgasmed. Pansy followed soon behind, thighs quivering as she let her orgasm press over her. 

After it passed, Pansy used the last of her energy to slowly slip the strap-on out. With a final wave of her wand, the strap-on was cleaned and sent back to its home, as was the bed. 

Pansy and Ginny collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and heartbeats, bodies warm. 

“Your hands are still cold,” Ginny managed to mumble, as she clasped one to her chest. 

“I know,” Pansy whispered in response, as they were both pulled down into a drunken, post-orgasm induced sleep. “That’s why I have you.” 

oOoOo

oOoOo

#### Translated Headlines

_ Down the right side  _

Hexe Awards 2016: shortest engagement, worst cheater, & more! 

Kata’s face: What has she done? 

Heartthrob in Hong-Kong

_ Center _

Quidditch: a glance behind the scenes

  * They MAKE OUT in front of 50 cheering friends! 
  * Dancing on tables to Weird Sisters karaoke! 



_ Bottom _

PLUS! Potter & Malfoy public quarrels 

#### Translated excerpt from Die neue Hexe volume 301, August 20th 2017:

At the German Quidditch World Cup after-party, Holyhead Harpies seeker Ginny Weasley, 35, and her partner, the esteemed French director Pansy Parkinson, 36, seemed to get ahead of themselves in their revelries.

The pair entered the venue in Lovegood originals. Weasley went for a dressed up athleisure look in a draped scarf style white top, olive green joggers, and white Adidas. Parkinson was a bit more avant-garde in an all-black ensemble: halter top, long trench coat, leather pants, and platform Adidas. There’s no question about what athletic footwear brand is sponsoring Weasley this season. 

Upon leaving the venue, the pair looked noticeably different. Mainly that Parkinson’s shirt was nowhere to be seen, the only thing covering her chest X’s in black tape over the nipples. She seemed unphased by the heckling paparazzi, photos surfacing the next day of her flashing a middle finger to the press and getting into a black Audi with a blushing Weasley.

**Author's Note:**

> 💋 This work is part of the Taste of Smut Fest, a Harry Potter-centered fest dedicated to the five senses: taste, touch, smell, hearing, and sight. 
> 
> If you’ve enjoyed this work, please do shower our content creators with kudos and comments! 💌
> 
> [Please check out the fest's tumblr for more posts and updates](https://tasteofsmut.tumblr.com/)


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